


A Song for Sansa Stark

by luvxena



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Play, Consensual, Dubious Consent, F/M, Masturbation, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-04
Updated: 2013-01-19
Packaged: 2017-11-23 16:33:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/624250
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/luvxena/pseuds/luvxena
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sandor Clegane and Sansa Stark make their way to Dorne after escaping the grasp of Petyr Baelish. But all is not well for them when Sandor feels more guilt about the events of <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/565803/chapters/1012362">A Song for Sandor Clegane</a>. Sansa's new friend, Princess Arianne Martell, wants to help.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sansa

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct sequel to [A Song for Sandor Clegane](http://archiveofourown.org/works/565803/chapters/1012362). However, this one has not been Beta'd and English is my second language. Please forgive spelling and/or grammar mistakes that may have crept in.

**SANSA**

Sansa Stark – the rightful Queen in the North – was standing on Arianne Martell’s bedchamber balcony overlooking the azure waters of the Summer Sea. She thought that if she squinted hard enough, she could make out the free city of Lys on the far horizon.

It was another hot sunny day in Sunspear, the winter not having yet touched Dorne though she knew that winter was coming. _Winter is_ always _coming_ , she thought, _they are the Stark words after all._

Sansa leaned over the railing to look down at the crashing waves upon the rocks. “Oh Arianne,” she murmured. “It’s so beautiful here; I could stay in Dorne forever.” She closed her eyes and let the sounds of this new foreign city overwhelm her senses. It was so different from King’s Landing. Not as large as the capital of Westeros, Sunspear was the ancient stronghold of House Martell and was surrounded on three sides by the sea.

Sansa loved to hear the sound of the unending waves crashing on the rocks below, and the cries of the seagulls as they flew overhead or fought over a fish. She thought Sunspear was more beautiful and exotic than any city she had ever seen in her life, though she knew she had not seen as many as she would have liked. _Maybe one day_ , she thought wistfully, _I could go with Sandor over the narrow sea and explore all the Free Cities of Essos_. She sighed deeply when she caught herself thinking about Sandor again.

Sandor Clegane and Sansa Stark had arrived in Dorne after travelling for over a month, always one step ahead of the long grasp of Alayne Stone’s ‘father,’ Lord Petyr Baelish. They’d made their way out of the Gates of the Moon through the treacherously snowed-in and freezing cold Mountains of the Moon, barely avoiding the dangerous mountain clans that lived in the foothills, barely one step ahead of them the entire time.

Then they’d made their way to the Quiet Isle (Sandor wanting to retrieve his warhorse Stranger: “Little bird, we're not bloody going anywhere without Stranger,” he'd growled at her when she was about to protest the wisdom of going to the Quiet Isle) and then off to Dorne discretely by way of ship from Maidenpool.

 _The Swimming Mermaid_ , the ship had been called, and its captain was a colorful Tyroshi by the name of Agron Methanis who’d taken a shine to Sansa, much to Sandor’s obvious dislike. But he had behaved the entire time, mainly glaring and glowering at Captain Methanis whenever this one was paying too much attention to her.

Sansa had questioned Sandor’s sanity to head to Dorne, a place where Sandor’s very life could be in danger since he was brother to the man who had raped and murdered Prince Doran Martell’s sweet sister Elia and bashed her baby boy’s head in, while Ser Amory Lorch killed the little girl. But Sandor had bet on the fact that Prince Doran was a reasonable man who wouldn’t hold him to his brother Gregor’s crimes.

Besides, Sandor reasoned again, everyone knew just how much the Hound had hated his dead brother, the Mountain that Rides.

At first, Prince Doran had been wary of them. Especially of Sandor. For a terrifyingly brief moment she even thought that the prince was going to ask his massive Captain of the Guards to kill him. But when Sansa declared herself to be Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and the rightful Queen in the North and that Sandor Clegane was now her sworn shield, the cautious and pensive Prince had extended his protection over them both after a happy reunion with Princess Myrcella confirmed Sansa’s claim.

A seagull flew overhead and Sansa looked on as it dove toward the crashing waves to claim a fish. She peered at the bird flying away with its prize in its beak and inhaled sharply to catch the scent of the sea, wrinkling her nose as she did so.

Behind her, and lying sprawled quite lazily over her large feather bed onto her stomach, with her hands folded underneath her chin and her ankles crossed, was Arianne Martell, Princess of Dorne and the beautiful eldest daughter of Prince Doran. The princess had taken Sansa under her wing as soon as she and Sandor had arrived in Dorne, treating her as she would a younger sister.

“Will your sworn shield really stay outside my door until you leave?” Arianne suddenly asked her.

“Yes,” Sansa sighed while she turned her head back to look at her new friend.

“Hmm, he is very much like father’s Norvosi Captain of the Guards, Areo Hotah. Very tall and imposing and fierce-looking . . . and, without a doubt I am sure, quite _large_ ,” Arianne said again.

Sansa had a feeling that she was actually talking about Sandor and the size of his manhood rather than about the imposing Norvosi Captain of the Guards, making her unexpectedly jealous while she felt her face flush a deep crimson.

Arianne suddenly laughed merrily. It was a laugh that sounded like soft bells chiming in the warm summer breeze. “By the Seven, I fear you are quite far gone in love with your sworn shield, Sansa.”

Sansa’s shoulders slumped slightly before she deeply sighed again. She had become friendly enough with Princess Arianne since their arrival in Dorne now over two weeks past. Still, Sansa was wary of the princess; in fact, she was always wary of everyone. At least Littlefinger had taught her that quite well.

“Does it show very much?” Sansa asked hesitantly in a small voice.

“Well yes, there are some revealing signs. Shall I tell them to you?” Before Sansa could answer, Arianne went on. “Your eyes follow him around when you’re both in the same room, your body always turn toward him almost imperceptibly when he stands behind you at attention, and you always, _always_ lean toward him. That, and you mention Clegane almost every time we talk about, oh, just about anything and everything, Sansa.” Arianne laughed again. “And just now, when I talked about him, your cheeks flushed red in jealousy. So I would say yes, Sansa, you are definitely in love with the former Lannister Hound.”

Arianne was right, of course. Sansa knew she was hopelessly in love with Sandor Clegane and that her thoughts – and the rest of her – _always_ turned to the former Hound. But just having someone else say it made it even more real and tangible, somehow.

Sansa slowly made her way toward a small pink marble table next to the bed to take a lemoncake. They were her favorites, and as soon as she found out, Arianne had made sure that the kitchens made them almost every day for their honored guest. There was also a bowl of fresh figs besides the platter of small cakes and Sansa took one, biting into the delicious fruit and eating it almost whole.

She sat herself close to the Dornish princess on a beautifully ornate high backed chair made of pale weirwood and nibbled at the lemoncake, small crumbs falling in her lap. Sansa then looked at her intently, taking in her beautiful olive skin, her large, dark eyes, the long strands of black hair falling in soft spirals down the middle of her back. _She reminds me of Randa in a way_ , she thought. _But can the two of us truly be friends? I know Myrcella is very fond of her despite everything that's happened to her when Arianne's failed scheme to name her Queen of the Seven Kingdoms left Myrcella disfigured._

Sansa started playing with her dress, smoothing it down and brushing the small lemoncake crumbs from her lap – it was a beautiful airy contraption of pale green silk woven through with threads of gold that complemented her red hair and was a gift from Prince Doran, as with every single new piece of clothing both she and Sandor now owned – a tell-tale sign that she was nervous.

“Tell me Sansa, has the Hound already taken you?” Arianne asked, laying a soft hand over Sansa’s nervous ones. Arianne’s hands were warm and, somehow, they soothed Sansa’s nerves.

“Yes, he has, but . . .” she trailed off. She didn’t know if she should discuss this. It was so personal after all. But she did feel the need to share with someone. Myrcella was her good friend but she was too young for these . . . things; even though Queen Cersei’s daughter had recently flowered and was now a woman grown herself, very soon to be married to Arianne’s younger brother Prince Trystane Martell. In fact, the wedding was to take place but a few weeks hence in Prince Doran’s favorite palace, the Water Gardens, and not in the capital city itself. Sansa was actually looking forward to seeing the prince’s private residence, having heard so much about its magnificent gardens and numerous waterworks – though she no longer cared for weddings and with good reason.

“. . . but he has not touched you in a while,” Arianne finished for her.

“No,” Sansa murmured in a small voice. In fact, Sandor had not touched her since their precipitous escape from the Gates of the Moon.

At first, Sansa had been angry and hurt that he would be so cold and distant with her after their night of burning, fiery passion, and then she’d been miserably sad. She’d spent many nights crying silently with her face pressed into their bedroll, warm tears rolling freely down her face while Sandor resolutely turned his back to her every single night. Until she finally understood why he hadn't touched her again since that night. Sandor felt guilty again. Guilt for having taken her maidenhead; guilt for taking her from relative comfort (if being molested by Petyr could be called a comfort) and dragging her with him through the cold of winter and the harshness of the Mountains of the Moon; guilt he _still_ carried with him since King’s Landing, since the Battle of the Blackwater.

She suddenly felt the burning, pressing need to talk about this to someone. And Arianne was a woman of the world after all. If she’d still been at the Gates of the Moon, Sansa would have reached out to her friends, the Lady Myranda Royce and Robert Baratheon’s fierce and brave bastard daughter, Mya Stone, but she wasn’t at the Gates of the Moon; she was in Dorne, and her two best friends were hundreds of miles away as the crows fly.

After thinking things through, Sansa decided to trust Arianne and told her how Sandor had hid in her room at the Gates of the Moon, how he’d tied her to her bed while she was sleeping, and how he’d then made love to her. She spoke about how she’d been more than ready, wet and willing for him (having been in love with Sandor for such a long time now), turning the tables around and – finally – how they’d given themselves to each other freely and completely before escaping Littlefinger’s grasp.

When Sansa had finished talking, Arianne looked at her thoughtfully for some long minutes while she waited for her to say something, her hands clasping nervously in her lap and playing again with her dress, pulling at the soft fabric thoughtlessly and smoothing invisible creases.

“It seems to me your lover needs to be spurned on by you now Sansa. I have the feeling he’s actually waiting for you to put the moves on him . . . before he puts the moves on you again.”

“But . . . why?”

“You said you think he’s feeling guilt. Show him that you truly want him and that he has nothing to feel guilty about.”

“How? I really don’t know anything about . . . about seducing a man,” Sansa added, already feeling somewhat defeated.

Arianne smiled warmly at her. “Why don’t you come back to my bedchambers later tonight, after the sun sets. We’ll see what we can do about _that_.”

*****

Sandor had escorted her from Arianne’s room to her own bedchamber with nary a glance and barely a word again. His entire body tensed behind her while he remained resolutely silent. Sansa stepped back to walk beside him instead of before him and gave him a sideways glance. He merely scowled at her for doing so.

Her eyes started roaming over him. Sandor was so tall and massive with his large muscular frame, his square shoulders and rippling muscles that were barely hidden underneath his new shining steel armor over newly-boiled leather (another gift from Prince Doran), his dark hair washed clean and combed over the burnt side of his face to try and hide his tell-tale burns, his beautiful grey eyes so keen and sharp, taking in their surroundings with the intensity of a hawk. A true sworn shield. It was all Sansa could do not to take a sharp intake of breath while she took him in, and it made her womanly place ache dully in want of him because by the gods, she wanted Sandor Clegane back between her legs, and right back inside of her.

She thanked him while he bowed stiffly and she entered her bedchamber alone. Sandor was still standing at her door when she came out after a light supper taken in her room. He escorted her silently back to Arianne’s apartments as the sun was setting over the horizon.

“Thank you, Sandor,” she said, looking at him timidly, waiting for him to say _something_ to her. When he sullenly looked past her at an invisible point above her head, after mumbling an almost inaudible “my lady,” Sansa sighed deeply. _Oh Sandor, can’t you see how much I love you?_ Her heart clenched painfully, making her feel almost ill. Gathering herself, she knocked on Arianne’s door.

The heavy oaken door suddenly swung open and a grinning Arianne grabbed her by the arm and ushered her in while she gave a long appreciative look at a glowering Sandor before shutting the door in his face.

“Arianne!” Sansa started admonishing her when she stopped dead in her tracks, her mouth agape when she noticed the very naked man lying sprawled on Arianne’s bed, his manhood half hard in his hand while he was slowly stroking himself. She noticed he had his eyes on her while he increased the speed with which his closed fist was working his stiffening member up and down, making Sansa’s womanly place start to ache dully again despite herself before she felt herself flush red in embarrassment.

Arianne grabbed Sansa by the arm and dragged her to the bed. “Arianne, no!” Sansa almost wailed. She now had an unimpeachable view of the naked man and of his long manhood which was rapidly appearing and disappearing in his closed fist as he moved his hips up and down over the mattress, a mischievous smile now playing on his full lips.

“This is Oryn. He’s one of my lovers. How do you like him Sansa?” Arianne was literally purring while she introduced him.

“I . . . I” Sansa sputtered, too embarrassed for words and blushing for all her worth. “He’s- he’s very comely,” she said, no longer looking at Oryn. Sansa was mortified and she was now biting at her lower lip nervously. She didn’t want to see any other man naked other than Sandor.

Arianne laughed again and grabbed her by the arms. “Oh, Sansa, _please_ look at him, look at him! Oryn is here because I’ve decided to teach you what to do with Clegane and he wants to help. Hmm, in fact, he loves an audience,” the princess added ruefully. “When you’ll be finished with your sworn shield, I promise you he’ll never leave your bed again,” she whispered in her ear conspiratorially.

Sansa blushed a deep crimson again but she allowed herself to let her gaze linger over Oryn’s body while slightly feeling like she was cheating on Sandor.

Arianne’s lover was tall, though not as tall as Sandor was, and he was lean where Sandor was large. But his body was muscular none-the-less though he had none of Sandor’s rippling muscles and wonderful silvery scars which told of his hard life as a deadly and efficient warrior – one of the most dangerous in the whole of Westeros. In fact, Oryn’s skin was almost perfect, a light, golden brown. His hair was the color of spun gold burnished with copper; it was actually a strange color, she thought. His face was comely enough but it was still masculine and he was clean-shaven, unlike Sandor who sported a stubble over the unburnt parts of his face. Oryn’s eyes were a deep blue where Sandor’s were the most wonderful, deep grey. Sansa’s gaze flickered over Oryn’s hard erection again. It was particularly long and large, though not as large as Sandor’s.

Sansa’s womanhood started to ache even more painfully at the remembrance of Sandor’s large manhood buried deep inside her and she blushed once more.

Arianne suddenly took her hand and placed it over Oryn’s stiff member, which jumped at the touch, and the young man’s hips ground against Sansa’s hand in pure reflex while he moaned loudly in pleasure.

“Arianne!” Sansa exclaimed as she snatched her hand away from Oryn’s hard manhood. Her skin feeling all tingly and warm where it had touched his hard length.

The princess smiled sheepishly at her again. “Oh, Sansa. I wish you’d known at least another man before your Lannister Hound, truly. Still, I find it admirable that your heart beats only for him.” Then Arianne’s face became deeply thoughtful and the play of emotion on her face told Sansa that she was obviously remembering something painful. “How old are you, Sansa?”

“Seven and ten,” Sansa answered.

Then Arianne seemed lost in thought again and Sansa believed she saw tears welling in the princess’ dark eyes. “I too loved someone once. Like you. He was a man of the Kingsguard. You must have known him in King’s Landing, Ser Arys Oakheart?”

 _Of course. Ser Arys Oakheart was sent to Dorne to accompany Myrcella the day of the bread riots_ , _the day Sandor saved me,_ thought Sansa. _He was one of Joffrey’s Kingsguard who beat me_ , she remembered bitterly. _How can I tell Arianne that Ser Arys had no real honor when she seems to have loved him?_ To be fair, Ser Arys had always been kind and pleasant enough to Sansa, speaking with her whenever he was escorting her. He also objected when he was ordered to beat her by Joff, and always strived to do it as lightly as he dared without incurring Joff’s wrath. But of all of Joffrey’s Kingsguard, Sandor was the only one who’d never raised a hand to her.

“But men of the Kingsguard take a vow to uphold knightly virtues,” Sansa almost whispered. “Aren't they supposed to stay chaste?”

Arianne looked at her and a small smile played on her lips. “They do, but believe me when I say that no vows of celibacy or chastity or their vows to uphold 'knightly virtues' as you put it will stop a man from breaking them when they truly want a woman . . . and what's between her legs. They need not father children after all when you can take moon tea. Your sworn shield was a member of the Kingsguard once, was he not?”

“Oh, yes,” Sansa said again. _But Sandor never asked me to take moon tea_. . . Sansa's red flower had bloomed three weeks past so she knew she wasn't with child. Still, she wondered why Sandor hadn't brought it up. _I guess our urgent escape from the Gates of the Moon didn't warrant thinking about it_. She flushed again at the thought that she could have been pregnant with Sandor's child. _I could have a little boy that would look like him with grey eyes and dark hair, like a true northerner_ , or a little girl with auburn locks and blue eyes like herself and her mother.

She looked once more at Oryn who was now lying on his side, smiling at her while he still stroked his manhood. She blushed again and felt an unbidden rush of wetness damp the inside of her thighs.

Arianne took her weirwood high backed chair and brought it next to the bed, turning it just so, so that Sansa could have a perfect view of Oryn. “Sit on the chair, Sansa,” Arianne told her, smiling. “I’m going to teach you what to do with Clegane.”

Sansa felt her face become hot again. “Arianne, I don’t think I can watch you . . .”

“Yes you can, Sansa. I'm not a prude, and sex is only natural. I will teach you what to do with your sworn shield.” Arianne gave her a winning smile.

Sansa sighed again and sat herself on the chair, not quite sure if she was ready for whatever lesson Arianne wanted to give her. The princess climbed onto her large feather bed and Oryn turned on his back while she raised her dark red silk skirts over her thighs and straddled her lover, giving a jerk of her hips over him, making him moan. Then she turned her head sideways to look at Sansa, her dark hair falling in loose curls over her left shoulder.

“You said that Sandor Clegane made you give him a song; that you sung for him. Well, I think it’s time _you_ coaxed a song from the former Lannister Hound. I think it’s time Sandor Clegane sang for Sansa Stark.”


	2. Sandor

**SANDOR**

Sandor Clegane didn’t like Sansa Stark, Lady of Winterfell and the bloody Queen in the North, to be spending so much time with Arianne Martell. The Dornish princess was way too wanton for his taste. Well, he chuckled, she was wanton enough for _his_ taste but he didn’t want her rubbing off his little bird. Sansa Stark was courteous, a proper little lady. Not like her bloody she-wolf bitch of a sister Arya or the Dornish Princess and especially not like Cersei fucking Lannister.

Sandor had a nagging feeling that she was sad and miserable that he hadn’t touched her again since their first intense night together at the Gates of the Moon, but once more his guilt had stood squarely in the way. He’d finally taken that precious song from her, and even though she’d been more than wet and willing for him, he still felt guilty to have coaxed it from her the way he did.

So now he wanted _her_ to make the first move. He wanted Sansa to make the decision to have him back between her long, slender legs.

But the little bird hadn’t asked him to lie with her again now, had she? So he figured she didn’t want him anymore.

Sandor was also aware she probably had no idea either just how frustrated he’d been the entire time they were making their harrowing escape from the Gates of the Moon to Dorne, going to sleep every night tucked in together in the same bedroll to fight off the cold and keep them both warm, with his back turned to her while his cock was as hard as Valyrian steel, not even being able to stroke himself to release. He’d had to steal away every morning, pretexting the need to make water and other things, to get at least some semblance of relief and an often too-empty release. But then he’d get aroused all over again just by her presence, by the mere scent of her, by the simple press of her back against his. Sandor felt himself to be in all the seven bleeding hells.

Since he now had his own room next to the little bird, he'd gotten busy stroking his cock almost every night thinking of Sansa. Sandor would let his mind get pleasantly flooded with mental images of his little bird straddling him while she sunk herself onto his rock-hard cock, like she did on that night they'd made love, rubbing her wet little nub in tight circles with her long slender fingers while she moaned his name in ecstasy, seeing himself fuck her hard and fast while she moaned and writhed in pleasure underneath him. Bugger him but every night was the same as he fucked into his fist desperately while he moaned her name through gritted teeth or into his pillows as he released and spilled his seed over his hand and his stomach.

Ever since their arrival in Sunspear he’d even been tempted to take one of the kitchen wenches who’d made it plainly known to him that _she_ wanted him rutting between her legs, but his love (because fuck him, he realized he was in love) for Sansa had stopped him from claiming the pretty wench with olive skin, dark hair and even darker eyes.

When the door to Arianne Martell’s bedchamber finally opened, and Sansa let herself out, he noticed that her cheeks were red and that her breath was ragged. He cast a suspicious glance inside the room and his mouth almost gaped open when he noticed the naked man lying sprawled on the princess’ bed and he glimpsed Arianne Martell’s naked back just as she was putting on a silken bed robe.

Sandor saw red and grabbed Sansa roughly by the arm. “So, this is why you no longer wanted me, little bird,” he snarled at her while she yelped in pain. “You just wanted a nice pretty boy to rut between your legs instead of this scarred ugly dog.”

“What?” Sansa replied, a look of complete and utter shock crossing her beautiful features. Then she glanced at the slightly opened door and started talking fast. “No! It’s not what you think Sandor, _please_ ,” she pleaded with him in her sweet voice. But Sandor was too angry to listen to her.

“Oh yes, I should have known, little bird. Your head was always so full of songs about handsome and gallant knights that I couldn’t possibly well satisfy you so ugly I am,” he snarled again, his face now very close to hers, the burnt side twitching madly. “You always wanted your own Florian the fool to your Jonquil. Or rather, someone handsome and soddingly chivalrous like Ser Arthur Dayne – the Sword of the Morning – or Ser Loras fucking Tyrell, the Knight of Flowers with the pretty boy face – whose burns now are worse than mine I hear. Well, I’m still the fool, but now you don’t need to worry. I’ll leave you alone, little bird. In fact, I’ll leave you here in Dorne while I return to the Quiet Isle. I should never have let myself fall for a chirping bird used to spouting courtesies left and right.”

Sandor was so angry and hurt all at once he felt his heart had just been trampled by a horde of flaming aurochs while he stared at Sansa’s look of shock, then disbelief, and finally, hurt. He saw she was about to say something but he was too angry to even _want_ to listen to her, to her chirping. So he just left her there and stomped to his own room while he limped badly on his leg, a deep scowl over his scarred features while at the back of his mind a little voice was telling him he was probably making the biggest fucking mistake in his life.

*****

Sandor was tossing and turning in his large bed. He’d decided to go directly to sleep when he’d made his way back to his bedchamber instead of getting himself well and drunk in some seedy inn in the city, but it was no fucking use since sleep was eluding him. _Should have gone to a bloody inn and get myself piss drunk, like I used to do back in King’s Landing. Then I would have slipped into a sweet oblivion and wouldn't be bloody thinking about_ her _._

He was staring at an invisible point on his high ornate ceiling, fuming, when he heard a light knock at his door. _Fuck_. Whoever it was, he wasn’t answering.

Then the knock became more persistent.

“Whoever it is, leave me be if you don’t want me shoving a hot poker up your arse!” he rasped loudly.

The knocking finally stopped but the door slowly opened. Fuck him. He’d forgotten to lock his bloody door. Sandor reached for his new shining sword when light spilled from the lit passage, ready to cleave anyone walking through his door in two, and then he saw Sansa enter his room, the backlight underlining every single one of her womanly curves underneath a pale blue silk dress, her long auburn hair like a fiery halo all around her. _The Others take me. She looks like the Maiden and the Mother all rolled into one. A fucking bloody goddess._ Then he caught himself and glowered at her as hard as he possibly could.

“What the fuck are you doing here, little bird? Didn’t I make it quite clear I want nothing to do with you? Go back to your own bedchamber or better, to Arianne Martell’s one. I’m sure the pretty _boy_ (he almost spat out the word) there would like to have you again.”

He heard Sansa sigh deeply while she closed the door shut behind her and bloody well locked it. _What the fuck does she think she’s doing? She’s not going to accomplish anything by trying to_ seduce _me._ Because he had the feeling this was the reason why she was here in his bedchamber in the first place, in an almost bloody transparent gown made of pale blue silk clasped with two finely intricate red gold brooches over her shoulders that complemented her skin, her eyes, and the color of her hair. But wasn’t that what he’d wanted all along? For Sansa Stark to actually make her move on _him_?

He went back to staring at the invisible point on his ceiling, his arms folded behind his head while he heard Sansa make her way toward him, her naked feet pitter-patting on the marble floor of his bedchamber. The Dornish did like their luxury . . . luxurious.

He was still scowling at the ceiling when she stopped by the side of his bed, her soft warm hand touching him lightly over his burnt arm, sending an unbidden jolt of arousal coursing through his entire body and making his cock twitch in his breeches despite himself. _Why the fuck is she making me react like a bloody green squire again? Damn her. I wish I’d never met Sansa_ bloody _Stark_. But deep inside, he knew he was lying to himself. Sansa was the best thing to ever happen to him and he was actually in pain; it was hurting him so fucking much that she’d lain with this handsome young man, while she'd all but rejected him these past weeks. Fuck him but his skin felt all warm and tingly where she'd just touched him.

“Look at me Sandor, _look at me_ ,” she pleaded with him.

Reluctantly, he turned his head toward her. Looking at her beautiful heart-shaped face, her luscious pink lips that were slightly trembling, the wonderful blue of her eyes that were drowning him . . . except he saw they were red-rimmed and that she’d been crying and felt like a complete and utter bastard in all the seven hells for making her cry again. Fuck, she deserved better than him, and that pretty boy with the brown skin certainly was prettier than he could ever hope to be with his scarred, ugly features. He snorted through his nose.

“Sandor, the man you saw in Arianne’s room, I . . . well, _nothing_ happened with me. He was there because Arianne wanted to show me, wanted to teach me —”

“—teach you what, little bird?” he almost spat again. Then he suddenly grabbed her arms and swung his legs over the side of the bed so he was now sitting on its edge, facing her. “Teach. You. What. Little bird,” he slowly repeated again and growled low in his throat, his face now a few inches away from hers. He had a sneer on his face as his eyes were peering intently at hers while she looked back at him with her blue eyes wide and sincere.

She sighed again and said, “she was actually teaching me how to seduce you, if you want to know.”

Sandor was incredulous. He stared at Sansa hard, his mouth agape. Then he barked out a loud laugh, making _her_ glower hard at _him_.

“So it was hands on teaching, then?” He asked, another snarl tinting his voice.

“I never touched him! Well, I didn’t want to touch him. Arianne took my hand and put it on his manhood but I snatched it away —”

“—so you’re admitting that you touched the pretty boy,” he snarled again.

“I don’t care about the _pretty boy_ , Sandor,” Sansa spat back in his face, ice creeping into her tone, the wolf in her finally coming out as she showed him her white teeth.

“And why not? From what I saw, he’s pretty enough. Might be he liked you touching him. Might be he’d want to fuck you.”

“He can want to fuck me all he likes, I don’t want him. I want you. You, and your scars, and your burned face and your stupid foul temper.” She was almost screaming at him now.

_Fuck, she’s so fucking beautiful when she’s angry!_ Sandor looked her deep in the eyes before he covered her mouth with his and started kissing her deeply, almost cruelly. But instead of her pushing him away, like he thought she’d do, she squirmed hard against him, wrapped her arms around his neck and started kissing him back with the same heat and passion, making him breathless and getting his cock to stiffen – _traitor_ , was Sandor’s barely coherent thought.

Then he grabbed her right arm, untwining it roughly from around his neck, and shoved it between his legs, making her feel the hard bulge now pressing almost painfully against the laces of his breeches. “Is that what she did, Sansa, did she shove your hand between his legs just like I’m doing now?” he asked her, aroused beyond belief despite himself.

Sansa moaned and rubbed her palm over his engorged member, her hand tracing the outline of his stiff cock with light fingers, from its stem to its tip, making him groan and buck his hips into her hand despite his every good intention not to.

“Yes,” she answered, short of breath.

He could see her nipples puckering into tiny hard peaks under her almost-transparent gown. On pure instinct, and with a low growl, he latched his lips onto one of her nipples, sucking on it hard through the light fabric of her dress, grazing at it with his teeth while she moaned loudly in both pleasure and pain.

His arms wrapped themselves around her waist where he could feel the smooth silkiness of the fabric against her warm skin, pulling her to him while she kept on palming his hard cock over his clothes, rubbing him heatedly. He felt his woolen breeches getting damp and a dark wet spot slowly appeared when his cock started leaking in his excitement, the sticky fluid seeping into his clothes.

“What else did she teach you little bird,” he asked her, his voice thick with lust, his breathing already ragged.

Sansa blushed before she spoke. “She showed me how to suck on a man’s hard manhood,” she answered, excitement showing plainly in her voice, her cheeks suffused with red.

“Show me,” he groaned and he started to unlace his breeches slowly, while her eyes stared hard at the stiff bulge between his legs and her lips parted in excitement. “Suck on me, Sansa,” he rasped, his husky voice almost begging and low in his throat, what he said as much a question as it was a statement.

Without a word, his little bird sank to her knees between his parted legs, her hands resting lightly on each of his thighs, and waited with her lips parted in an excited O for him to release his aching cock from its prison of wool. It was hot and hard and as soon as it almost sprang free of its breeches, Sansa firmly grabbed hold of his rock-hard manhood with trembling hands and – without a moment's hesitation – she licked him from his stem to the head of his cock with the flat of her wet tongue, teasing at the small knot of flesh situated on the underside. _Oh, fuck._

Then she used the tip of her tongue to circle over his cockhead agonizingly slowly before she closed her wet mouth over the tip of him, surrounding him in the moist heat of her mouth. She started suckling on his tip noisily, making the most arousing sounds as she did so, before she went down on him wetly, ripping a deep moan from Sandor's throat.

Grabbing her silky soft hair in his fist, he pushed her head over his stiff member so that she would take more of him into her mouth, the tip of his cock now nudging at the back of her throat, sending a hot stab of pleasure coursing through his entire body. She didn’t gag, instead she moaned and he felt her moan hum alongside his hard length, sending more wonderful shivers up and down his spine.

He watched Sansa intently as her head slowly went back up again and she swirled her tongue around the tip of his cock when it was almost fully out of her mouth, sucking on his cockhead almost hungrily again before going down on him once more, his cock now slick with her saliva.

“Was that what she showed you little bird? Is that how she sucked on the pretty boy’s cock?”

“Yes,” Sansa moaned while she took his swollen member out of her mouth with a pop, making him groan in protest.

“Show me again, Sansa, show me how hard she sucked on his stiff member,” he asked her, the tone of his voice almost begging again. Fuck, this was getting to be incredibly arousing. Sandor felt completely turned on by all of this, by the sight of his little bird actually sucking him off.

With a loud moan Sansa took him back into her mouth and started to suck on his hard member enthusiastically, her head bobbing up and down over his hard length with her lips pursed over her teeth and her wet tongue laving the underside of his cock, licking at the swollen vein there. When she was back up to the tip of his manhood, she lapped at the salty fluid that was still leaking from its slit and teased at it with the flickering tip of her wet tongue like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted in her life, better than all the lemoncakes she loved so much. Then she went down on him again as far as her mouth could go.

Sandor reached for his engorged member and started stroking himself where Sansa’s mouth couldn’t reach. His hand going up and down his thick hard shaft in time with Sansa going down on him, making him moan like a bloody maiden at the incredible sensation he was experiencing and the sight of his little bird eating him up like that.

Sansa’s left hand started caressing his thigh in smooth soothing circles before she fumbled with his laces and managed to tug open his breeches a little wider and went in to grab his hard balls.

_Oh, fuck me_ , he thought as his arousal suddenly soared sky-high when his little bird started stroking his balls by rubbing light fingertips between them and softly squeezing each one in turn before palming them. It sent another hot stab of pleasure shooting from his balls to his hard member and then all over his body.

Sandor could feel himself losing it. He could feel his release approaching hard and fast upon him as Sansa sucked on his cock and rubbed his balls in a maddeningly exciting way. _She’s putting what she saw to good use_ , he thought, a part of him aroused no end while another part of him was deeply jealous.

His hips had started to buck almost wildly into her warm mouth, his cock slick with her saliva. “Tell me Sansa,” he panted. “Were you slick with desire between your legs when you saw the little princess suck on the pretty boy’s cock? Were you wet?” Fuck, why was he asking her that? Might be he really didn’t want to know if her cunt was slick at the sight of the princess and the pretty boy fucking.

“Oh, yes, but only because I was thinking of you,” she moaned. “I was seeing myself sucking on your hard manhood, Sandor.” He saw her cheeks turn a light shade of red both in arousal and in deep embarrassment.

_Seven save me._ “Little bird, if you keep this up I’ll release into your mouth,” he groaned. He could feel his brow becoming damp with sweat, and his breathing was now coming in fast, his chest heaving in his excitement and his balls clenching hard. Fuck, it was exciting. _I want to come into her mouth so bad_ , he fleetingly thought, _I want her to take in all of me, want her to swallow me whole, want her to lick my cock clean after I spill my seed._

He was so close . . . his climax just around the corner. But right before he could get his sweet release, Sansa let go of his cock wetly again, making him groan partly in frustration.

She was now staring at him, while his twitching cock was still heavy in his hand. _Just a few more strokes and I will peak . . ._ Sandor saw that her pupils were now completely blown and her eyes were now almost a deep, dark blue. They were shining with excitement in the warm moonlit room.

“Lie back down on the bed, Sandor . . . I want to ride you,” she murmured to him, blushing for all her worth at her own words, her cheeks taking on a pretty light shade of red again.

_Fuck me. The little bird wants to ride me? Seven bleeding hells, I’m definitely going to let her ride me to all the seven heavens,_ he almost chuckled out loud at the thought.

But then he grabbed her by the arms again. “Is that something the little princess showed you as well little bird? Or did you get to ride the pretty boy too?” Why the fuck was he asking her that? What the hell was he doing? He didn’t really want to know, but a sudden and very vivid image of Sansa straddling and riding the pretty boy hard while her eyes were closed in pleasure, her mouth opened in a silent O of ecstasy, and her red hair falling in messy strands down her back had popped up into his mind and a hot, green flash of jealousy had unexpectedly overtaken him.

Sansa bared her white teeth at him again in her sudden anger. “I told you, I didn’t do anything with him,” she hissed.

Sandor didn’t know why but seeing her like this excited him more than he could possibly say.

“Alright little bird, I believe you. I’ll let you ride me if you can.” Then he barked out another laugh. _The little bird is such a bad rider – now_ that _should be interesting._ He smirked at her, looking all kinds of smug.

Sansa looked at him with a scowl on her beautiful features, making Sandor laugh even harder. Then she shut him up when she took him back into her mouth, sucking on him hard and fast, increasing the pace as she went and driving him into a frenzy.

She let go of his hard member again. “Will you shut up now?” she asked him with a wet smirk on her face, her luscious mouth a few inches over his throbbing, aching cock.

“Yes,” he groaned and bucked his hips in need.

She pushed against his hard stomach again and ordered him to lie down on his back once more, which Sandor did rather quickly, crawling backwards over the large bed until he was lying flat on his back.

“Take your clothes off Sandor,” she told him while she slowly unclasped the gold brooches that were holding her pale blue silk gown together with fluttering fingers. First, one was opened, bearing one perfect breast to his eyes and making him grunt in appreciation while she blushed prettily, and then the second brooch was unfastened and the light dress pooled around her feet, revealing her perfect, curvaceous body to his eyes once more.

Shit, it had been so long, too long since he’d seen her naked. Why did he not take her again and again and again after they’d escaped from the Gates of the Moon all those times they'd been sleeping in the same bedroll? Oh yes, his bloody, stupid guilt. Well bugger him and bugger his stupid sodding guilt.

Sandor groaned at the sight of Sansa’s magnificent body finally bared to him again and he took in her perfectly firm white teats with their perfect pink nipples, his eyes roaming over the slender curves of her hips, over her flat stomach and the thatch of curly red hair that covered her mound, and then to her long, lean legs, and he hurriedly took his clothes off, removing shift, breeches and smallclothes as fast as he could.

Now it was his turn to stand naked in all his glory in front of her and he saw the sudden hunger in her eyes as she drank in his amazing body, looking over his powerful chest and large shoulders, his strong sinewy arms and his flat stomach. Then her eyes flickered to his groin where his cock was jutting out of the dark courser hair of his groin, twitching in excitement and leaking pearly fluid over his stomach, and then to his well-muscled legs. He knew that even though his face was a half-ruin, his body was strong and pleasing to a woman’s eyes. It was a warrior’s body after all.

She climbed onto the bed on all fours, like the Stark wolf she was, crawling her way slowly up his body. Her lips were pursed in desire for him, her firm teats swaying lightly and brushing over his thighs. She stopped over his cock which jumped at the feeling, while she still made her agonizingly slow way up his body. Next, she brushed her hardened nipples over his flat stomach which was smeared with his sticky fluid, and then over his chest, making him pant in arousal when she _finally_ straddled him and he felt the warmth of her wet cunt over his stiff erection.

Sandor’s excitement was running high and he knew he just needed her so bad right now. He’d always needed her, from the very first moment he'd seen her as far back as Winterfell.

Sansa pressed herself flush against him and moaned while her mouth searched for his hungrily, her tongue parting his lips with a sigh and licking over the burnt and the unburnt sides of his mouth before she darted it deep into his mouth, letting it slide wetly against his, making _him_ moan into their kiss as more shivers ran up and down his spine, his arousal pooling deep in his groin as he felt the blood rush directly to his swollen cock, making it ache in want of her.

He reached his hand behind her neck and pressed her soft lips harder against his, deepening the kiss. They kissed for long minutes, enjoying the feeling of their wet tongues clashing against each other, teeth and all, darting in and out as if they were fucking, nipping at their lower lips while Sandor growled in pleasure again when she nibbled and sucked hard on his bottom lip over the burnt side of his mouth. It made him moan shamelessly against her in pure fucking bliss.

When Sansa released Sandor’s mouth she gasped and her chest heaved, completely breathless. Her lips were swollen and red from kissing and biting – the sight of which made Sandor’s rock-hard cock twitch madly, fluid still leaking over the lower part of his stomach.

Steadying herself against him by laying her soft hands flat over his hard stomach, Sansa rubbed her wet cunt over his engorged member. She was so wet her cunt was sliding easily over his cock. _The Seven save me but the little bird is just so dripping wet and willing for me._ He groaned deeply, his rough fingers stroking her sides. _I just want her to take me into her tight warm cunt and ride me hard like she told me she would._ Sandor grunted his encouragement and bucked his hips against her, making her moan again.

Reaching, she grabbed hold of his stiff member, pulling a needy moan from Sandor’s lips, and steadied it over her slick entrance, rubbing the tip between her wet folds, making him groan in pure desire for her.

“Yes, Sansa,” he panted. “Show me what the little princess taught you; show me how she rode the pretty boy hard.” Fuck, it was getting hard to think he was so bloody excited. After such a long time, to have his little bird want to bury his cock deep inside her once more, well, he was just so fucking _hard_ for her, making his cock throb with each of his hammering heartbeat. Then he added, his voice so hoarse it sounded broken: “Ride me hard little bird, make me come inside your tight, wet cunt.”

Sandor’s heart was beating like a drum in his chest in anticipation, his breath coming in short as he stared at her, at his beautiful Sansa. His hands went of their own accord up the side of her magnificent body to her sides, then he reached up to cup her breasts, his thumbs brushing over her nipples, making them pucker into tiny hard peaks at his touch, which in turn made him grunt in pleasure while she squealed and moaned over him.

Then she sunk herself slowly on his hard manhood, her still-tight cunt all but crushing him exquisitely, while a loud moan was ripped from both their throats and his hips bucked hard against her, burying himself deep inside Sansa, making her gasp and whimper loudly in pleasure.

With a look that was completely filled with lust for him, Sansa Stark started riding him hard.


	3. Sansa and Sandor

**SANSA AND SANDOR**

The incredible feeling of bliss Sansa suddenly experienced when she sunk herself onto Sandor’s hard, engorged member made her gasp and then moan loudly in pleasure. It felt so incredibly good to have him inside her again; she almost sobbed her relief when she felt his stiff length fill her up completely.

Her entire body was throbbing and humming in want and need of him, _for_ him. Her blood was rushing in her veins, like liquid fire that was setting her on fire. Her pulse hammering in her ears. She wanted to tell him how much she was feeling for him; how much she loved and wanted him with her every touch, her every look, her very soul. She knew and felt how right it was for them to be together again like this. Right, and so very perfect.

Looking at Sandor, she saw the same look of deep arousal plainly reflected over his scarred features. The burnt side of his face was twitching madly in pleasure, his grey eyes glinting with need, his lips pursed over in pure ecstasy.

Thinking back on Arianne’s lesson, Sansa started rocking her hips over Sandor, rolling them back and forth while her hands were splayed over his hard stomach. Sansa felt Sandor’s hard manhood touch something deep inside her as she moved, rubbing a place that felt so incredibly good it made her whimper in pleasure with each buck of her hips over him, her nub getting some wonderful, blessed friction over his groin.

Sandor’s warm calloused hands were still cupping her breasts, still thumbing her hard little nipples and she moaned in need for more. She tried pressing them into his large hands, making him chuckle at her wantonness.

“The little bird wants me to grab her teats harder now, does she?” He was looking at her with a smug expression and a smirk over his scarred lips.

“Oh yes, _please_ ,” she half begged, half moaned, her hips still rolling hard over him, her lips parted in complete want. She knew her eyes were also glazed over in pleasure and, looking at him, she could see that his pupils too were blown, his grey eyes looking like the darkened sky during a thunderstorm. _Sandor’s eyes are so beautiful._ He _is so beautiful like this. He looks like a true Northerner. If Sandor were to come north with me, he could be my consort, my husband. No one would care that he’s not a knight – that he’s not a ser._

“You are so beautiful, Sandor,” she blurted out shyly while she continued rolling her hips over him.

He stared at her in bewilderment for a moment before he barked out another laugh. “Little bird, no one’s ever told me I was beautiful before. Most women don’t like the look of my half-ruined face much, and they usually make it plainly known to me,” Sandor rasped, a hint of bitterness showing in his tone.

A sudden hot rush of jealousy overwhelmed Sansa when she thought of the many women Sandor had without a doubt taken before her in his life, even if they’d been mostly whores.

“Well, I’m not most women, Sandor,” she replied, trying not to sound jealous and probably failing spectacularly. “And yes, I think you _are_ beautiful, scars and all,” she told him while giving another roll of her hips over him, making him groan deeply.

“Sansa . . .” Sandor started, looking at her intently, a trace of . . . was it _vulnerability_ in his voice and over his scarred features?

She interrupted him before he could speak, before he could tell her that she was being a stupid chirping bird. “And I love it when we give each other pleasure,” she added shyly again while she felt a deep blush coloring her cheeks.

_Fuck me_ , Sandor thought. _The little bird thinks I’m beautiful and she knows what she wants; and what she wants is to fucking pleasure me, and for_ me _to bloody well pleasure_ her _._ Sandor’s heart swelled in his chest at the thought, feeling his love for Sansa radiate from deep within him. _Well, I’ll give her what she wants, including all of me_. With a deep growl he started molding her wonderful teats to his large rough hands, making her whimper in need again, which in turn made him soar high in pure fucking bliss.

His hips started bucking against her and, after leaving her teats and making her whimper in disappointment, his strong arms suddenly pushed against hers to help her steady herself over him. His large fingers entwined themselves with her slender ones, palm against palm, while his elbows were pushing against the bed and his hips were now almost lifting them both off the mattress.

Sansa’s moans had slowly turned to loud whimpers and then to small cries of pleasure as his hips snapped hard against her, while she tried to keep on riding him hard, still rolling her hips over him.

“Raise your hips over me Sansa, yes . . . like this . . .” he grunted, his voice thick with lust again. “Now, slam them down over my cock. Don’t worry little bird, you won’t hurt me.” Sandor’s hips bucked again in encouragement.

Sansa obeyed him and she started slamming her hips up and down over him in a rhythmic fashion instead of rolling them. Her breasts were bouncing wildly in time with her slamming hips and Sandor growled in raw pleasure

Sandor’s hard cock was sliding wetly in and out of her, allowing him to sheathe himself fully inside her and making him shudder in pure pleasure underneath his little bird. It felt so good to be once again deep inside her, inside his Sansa, and he couldn't stop staring at his slick cock entering her again and again and again. His heels were digging into the mattress to find some purchase and allow him to rear his hips off the bed and into her wildly.

Sandor knew that this was how it was supposed to be and that he'd been a bloody fool. The Others take him, he knew he was a fool for _her._

Slamming her hips up and down over Sandor was harder work, but Sansa could see how much pleasure he was getting from this. In no time, her hair was in complete disarray and a fine sheen of sweat now covered her body, her legs trembling with the effort while her heart thumped wildly in her chest. Sandor’s fingers were now digging painfully into her waist, helping her slam her hips hard against him. She knew she would bear the marks of his fingers over her soft flesh in the morning but she didn’t care one whit. All she cared about was the pleasure they were giving each other. She wanted him to come deep inside her again, to have him spill his seed inside her aching womanhood.   _And then tomorrow, I will drink moon tea_ , she thought unhappily.

Sandor noticed how his little bird was struggling to keep up with the effort of slamming herself over him. So without warning he quickly grabbed her and turned her over so she was now lying underneath him, making her gasp in surprise while his cock slipped out of her wetly.

Their eyes locked, and Sandor smirked. “Tell me, shall I ride you hard now, Sansa?” Sandor asked, his voice low and hoarse. He parted her legs slowly with his knees, lowering his hips over hers while her chest heaved up and down both in excitement and with the effort she’d just made. His hard manhood was now pressing almost painfully against her mound and it was throbbing in time with his pulse. Then he nuzzled her hair before burying his face into her neck, breathing in the wonderful scent of her before he gently bit on the crook of her neck and suckled hard on her white flesh – marking her as his – which in turn ripped another moan from Sansa’s parted lips.

His large body was now pressed flush against hers, making them both sink heavily into the soft feather mattress. Her breasts almost crushed beneath his muscular chest while her nipples were puckered hard against him, getting some friction against his dark chest hair. His right arm dragged both of her hands up over her head and pinned them down while her legs went to wrap themselves high around his waist, her heels digging into the small of his back.

“Beg me for it, little bird,” he growled against her ear, his breath hot against her skin. It was caressing her feverishly and made her skin rise in goose prickles. “I want to hear you beg for me to ride you hard,” he added, rasping. Sandor had never felt more consumed with lust than he was at that moment.

Sansa arched her back off the bed and into him even if their bodies were already pressed flush together and there was barely an inch of space between them. “Oh, yes Sandor, _please_! Ride me hard, fuck me hard, _please_ ,” she moaned as she looked at him deeply, her luscious lips parted again in an arousing little O of pleasure before she licked and bit on her lower lip.

Letting go of her hands, and with a guttural groan that seemed to rumble from deep within his chest, he lifted his hips off her and steadied his rock-hard cock against her wet entrance with his left hand, the tip of his cock now pressing heavily against her folds. His hips pushed into her and he entered her again, making her both gasp and whimper in renewed pleasure.

“Yes, oh yes, oh _Gods_ . . . Sandor . . .” she moaned dazedly against him while her hips jerked up against him in pure reflex.

Sandor slowly moved his hips so that he was now almost completely all the way out of her, with only the tip of his cock still inside her tight wet cunt. Then he slowly pushed back in until he was sheathed inside her to the hilt, his balls tapping softly against her buttocks, making her moan loudly again and making him groan in pleasure.

“Please, I want more, fuck me harder Sandor, _please_ ,” she begged, whimpering and squirming underneath him.

Fuck him, but he was going to give her what she wanted. Sandor started rolling his hips downwards, thrusting his stiff member inside her hard and fast in complete need for her. “Do you know what dogs do to wolves?” Sandor growled against her ear, nibbling and biting at it as he fucked into her, his tongue darting hot and wet over her ear lobe before his lips latched onto the soft bit of flesh and he started suckling on it.

Sansa panted and looked up at him, her chest heaving hard, her pupils so large her eyes were almost dark. She bit her lower lip again, sending another jolt of arousal course through Sandor’s body at the sight. “They fuck them?” She asked as she reached for his good ear with her teeth and she too nibbled at it, making him grunt in pleasure before she nuzzled lower to the crook of his neck and bit down on it hard and sucked, making a purple bruise on Sandor’s warm skin, branding him as hers, her own. _Mine_ , she thought wildly while he groaned loudly.

“Fuck little bird . . . it feels so good. _You_ feel so good,” he moaned as he snapped his hips harder and started to pound into her, his upper body still crushing hers. He buried his face against her fragrant hair, deeply inhaling the scent of her before he started nipping at her neck again; literally growling as he did so. He licked at her hammering pulse, kissing her there with warm open-mouthed kisses before licking at it again. Sansa arched her back against him in response, keening in pleasure.

He trailed his left hand slowly up her silky smooth skin to cup her breast and rolled her hard little nipple between his thumb and forefinger while his needy mouth claimed hers, his tongue parting her lips and making her react with a deep contented sigh. Sandor soon deepened the kiss, sliding his tongue against hers, making his own arousal soar even higher when she started sucking on it wetly.

Caught in a whirlwind of pleasure, Sansa unwrapped her legs from his waist to raise them higher up against Sandor’s body in a sudden and overpowering need to have him fuck into her deeper, whimpering at the exquisite new feeling when she felt his hard manhood enter her at a different angle and hit something deep inside of her again that made her pleasure bloom and start to radiate all over her body. She moaned so loudly she thought everyone in Sunspear would be able to hear her cries of ecstasy.

Sandor reached to grab and hitch her legs higher up over his shoulders, allowing him to bury his cock even deeper inside her, the way he’d dreamed he was doing to her these past long frustrating weeks while he stroked himself to release, not being able to touch her, not being able to caress her soft porcelain skin the way he’d been wanting to. _Oh gods, so long, too long!_ This was slowly starting to unravel him as his pleasure was growing exponentially.

Sansa let out another loud whimper, making Sandor groan deeply in response.

_Seven save me! If I don’t stop fucking into her like that I’ll come soon, and I don’t want this to end just yet_. “Hold on little bird,” he murmured against her. Then he grunted and changed the tempo with which he was thrusting his rock hard cock inside her and started to move his hips lazily over hers, wanting to draw out his pleasure as well as hers.

“Tell me Sansa, did your pretty boy fuck your Dornish princess the way I’m fucking you now?” he panted, his arousal still running high.

“No . . .” she moaned against him. “She . . . she was riding him the entire time.”

“Was she now?” Sandor rasped, his voice curious while he thrust into her slowly. She was squirming underneath him, bucking her hips against him; clearly wanting him to increase the speed with which he was fucking her. He chuckled and then closed his lips around one of her nipples again, sucking on it hard with the flat of his tongue and the burnt side of his mouth –  which ripped another ragged moan from her throat.

“Oh . . . OH . . . OHHH Sandor please! I want more!”

Sandor licked and suckled on each of her nipples in turn, swirling his hot wet tongue around each little hardened peak and lapping at them before grazing them gently with his teeth.

Sansa was going mad with arousal. Wanting, _needing_ him to fuck into her harder, faster. She wanted him to snap his hips against her, wanted him to thrust his hard manhood into her even deeper than he already was (if that was even possible), wanted him to drill into her relentlessly until it made her completely and utterly dizzy with pleasure.

Since Sandor had released her hands earlier she was now roaming them eagerly over his large shoulders, trailing light fingertips up and down his well-muscled arms, feeling the play of his hard muscles underneath his hot skin with each of his movements. Then she started caressing his chest, playing with his dark chest hair and pressing her warm palms over his thumping heart before going down over his hard, flat stomach. Her arms reached around his lean waist toward his muscular back, stroking him there until she reached lower and grabbed his buttocks, squeezing them with full hands and pushing him into her deeper.

“Please Sandor, I want you to . . . fuck me harder, I need you so much!” She whimpered as she pressed his arse cheeks harder against her, making him grunt in pleasure. His skin felt so warm against her, she felt his very touch was setting every inch of her body on fire.

“Oh gods . . . Sansa . . .” Sandor obeyed her and, raising his upper body on his hard, powerful arms, he started to snap his hips against her harder and faster, just like she wanted from him, panting hard in pure fucking bliss with each downward thrust of his rock-hard cock inside her tight, wet cunt. The sound of their skins slapping against each other rose loudly into the warm room and mingled together with Sansa’s loud moans and Sandor’s deep groans.

He wanted to tell her how much he needed her, how much he loved her, but his emotions were all jumbled inside his chest. He couldn’t say anything. Couldn’t get the words out. So he tried showing her the only way he knew how. He kissed her again deeply, his tongue darting inside her mouth in time with his hips thrusting into her. Sansa moaned and sucked on his lower lip hard, sending more pleasurable shivers down his spine.

All this was sending Sandor into a frenzy and he felt his release coming fast upon him again, but he wanted Sansa to put those . . . _lessons_ she took from the Dornish princess to good use. So, grabbing her by the waist, he turned them over again so _he_ was now lying underneath _her_ and she was now back on top of him, straddling him deeply and squealing in surprise again.

“You’re supposed to ride me hard until I spill myself inside you, little bird,” he rasped, smirking at her for all his worth. “So please, do continue riding this scarred old dog again, it would be very much appreciated,” he told her smugly.

Sansa almost whined in protest but then she remembered what Arianne had showed her earlier, that bit that had made Oryn come so incredibly hard he’d almost moaned like a girl while she didn’t know a man could spill so much seed over himself. She remembered how Arianne’s eyes had been clouded over with pleasure and how she’d smiled triumphantly at Sansa. “See, this is what I mean, Sansa. This way, you can make your lover sing that song for you, and he’ll never, ever leave your bed again if he’s in his right mind.”

Sansa smiled brightly at Sandor which all but erased Sandor’s smirk in suspicion. “What are you planning to do now little bird?” he rasped.

“Why, I plan to ride you hard, my Hound,” she told him, a smile still playing on her lips.

Sansa slowly turned around over him (not wanting his cock to slide out of her) so that her back was now facing him and she had a nice view of his long muscular legs and his rather large feet. She laid her hands over his thighs, squeezing him there while her fingers stroked over his puckered scar. _My poor Hound,_ she thought _. You never told me how you got that scar. Or the burn on your arm. I will make you tell me one day, whether you want to or not_. She turned her head round to look at him, her hair falling in mad tumbles down her back and over his groin, spilling over the lower part of his stomach in silky, messy strands of red fiery liquid.

He was eyeing her suspiciously again before he smirked at her. “So, I see Arianne Martell did teach you well little bird. Is this how you plan on riding me now? With your back and your luscious arse facing me?” Sandor decided he was going to enjoy this. He’d never fuck anyone like this before, nor been fucked this way either.

“Oh, yes, I do.” Then she rolled her hips alluringly over him while his hands went directly to her arse cheeks, softly stroking and then grabbing her soft white skin in his calloused hands in turns. Sansa moaned and rolled her hips hard against him again, this time making _him_ moan in pure pleasure.

“Tell me, shall I ride you hard now, Sandor?” Sansa asked him, panting hard, a slight smirk slowly playing over her lips as she repeated the exact same words he’d told her earlier, while her hips kept on rocking gently over him.

“Yes, Sansa, you can ride me hard now if you can,” he said smugly, a grin suddenly forming on his half-scarred lips, making the burnt side of his face pull and twist in a strange, almost unnatural way.

Sansa smiled brightly and she started moving her hips over him in a sharp back and forth movement again. This time, Sandor let her ride him hard, helping her move her hips over him by pushing and pulling at her with his hands on her waist, his fingers digging into her soft flesh once more while he grunted and groaned with each of her movements.

Sansa was gasping hard, her head tipped backward in ecstasy, her eyes closed. Sandor fisted her long hair, his rough fingers entwined into her soft auburn locks and pulled at it gently, making her head turn sideways to the right and exposing her long neck to his eyes. Sansa felt her skin tingle in wonderful goose prickles all over her body. Her pleasure was now pooling below her tummy as Sandor’s cock was rubbing that wonderful, arousing spot that was inside her again with each blessed roll of her hips. She whimpered. _Oh gods, this feels so good. I want, I need more._

She could feel her womanhood become slicker with each rub over him, could feel a deep pleasure humming between her legs, making her entire body throb in white blinding need for more, for _him_ , for Sandor . . . the man she loved.

Her right hand left Sandor’s thigh and returned to gently cup and palm his clenching balls, rubbing them softly and making him groan in pleasure.

“Shit Sansa, little bird, stop doing that or I’ll peak in you faster than you expect,” he rasped. His balls were clenching hard in his pleasure and he knew he was going to come soon.

“Oh, no, that wouldn’t do. I mean for you to sing for me Sandor, sing for me while you peak,” she told him, completely breathless, while she still rolled her hips over him.

“You want me to sing for you, little bird?” he asked, incredulous. Then he laughed. This time it was a warm laugh, warm like the sun’s kiss over the stones of Winterfell, warm like a loaf of golden bread just taken out of the oven, warm like his seed spilling deep inside her. Not at all like the laughs he’s given her before or she’d come to expect from him. “Little bird, I can assure you, you don’t want to hear me sing,” he smirked at her again.

Sansa increased the speed of her hips over him, rocking them at a faster pace and making him groan again in pure pleasure, his lips pursed over. “You know what kind of song I want from you,” Sansa replied, her breathing ragged.

“Little bird, I don’t sing for anyone.”

“Oh, you’ll gladly sing for me,” she whimpered again, her head still turned back round toward him.

Sandor could see how aroused she was, the slickness between her legs making his cock slide easily deep inside her, making his pleasure increase with each buck of her hips over him. His cock was so hard inside her it was nearing on painful and he felt the need to release so strongly, that’s all he wanted to do.

_Fuck it, if the little bird wants me to sing for her, then I’ll do it gladly . . . and I’ll especially do it very soon_ , he thought wildly, the sight of her sweet arse moving back and forth over him already arousing him no end. But he wanted to see her breasts sway too, so Sandor tried to have her turn around again but she resolutely staid put, whimpering loudly in protest when he tried.

“Fuck Sansa, I want to see your teats,” Sandor panted, his hips beginning to rear wildly off the bed again. Fuck, it was getting hard to control himself he was so bloody excited.

She slowly turned round, enough so he could see the swell of her left breast and, smiling wickedly, she cupped it before she grabbed at it with her left hand, her fingers pulling and twisting at her nipple, making Sandor’s breath catch in his throat at the sight while he thought he very much wanted to lick those wonderful teats of hers with his tongue and graze at her hard little buds with his teeth again.

“Well, you can’t,” she purred and grinned at him mischievously.

Sansa gave him another lust-filled look, making him soar so fucking high in bloody incredible pleasure again. He could feel her fingers rubbing his hard balls, making them clench painfully, could feel her tight cunt enveloping his hard member in a tight, blissful grip that was almost crushing him but at the same time made his cock throb hard in pleasure with each of his heartbeats.

Sandor’s head was raised off the bed and he was looking at her intently. He wanted to come inside her so hard now that it was almost painful. “Sansa _please_ , I’m going to release very soon, I can’t hold on much longer! Let me come inside you little bird.”

“Yes,” she moaned. Sansa’s lips were parted in pure desire for him, her lower lip all red and swollen where she’d bitten at it, and she was looking at him through eyes half-closed, her usually beautiful clear blue eyes now a dark blue, much like the color of the sea during a summer storm.

Sandor’s pleasure was running so high he could feel that his release was right around the corner. His cock was as hard as Valyrian steel and just seeing his little bird getting so much pleasure while she was impaled on him was almost enough to tip him over that blessed edge. But he was holding on, painfully holding back his climax since he also wanted her to get her pleasure, needing her sweet cunt to convulse around him so bad it was driving him mad.

“Are you close to releasing little bird?” he asked her, his voice low and husky, his breath coming in short and ragged.

Sansa moaned again at his words. “Yes, I am . . .” she said as she moved her hips harder against him, rolling them hard and getting his cock to rub inside her in a way that was completely maddening to her.

She was panting with every buck of her hips over him, her release so close she was afraid that she would peak before getting her song from Sandor. Sansa wanted them to reach their climax together, so she slowed the movement of her hips over him, making _him_ protest loudly this time.

“What is it little bird, can’t handle it? Can’t handle me?” he asked, panting hard. Fuck him, he was so close but the little bird’s hips were no longer moving hard and fast over him, making him grunt in clear frustration.

“Oh, yes, Sandor. I think I can.”

Then he saw her right arm reach in front of her and felt her fingers entering her hot wetness while his hard cock was still buried in her cunt. Seven bleeding hells, that excited him even more as he felt Sansa’s fingers brush against his swollen member deep inside her.

“Sansa, fuck little bird that feels good, I'm so fucking close,” he moaned.

“It will feel even better Sandor, I promise,” Sansa said.

_Even better? What the fuck does she mean to do?_ Sandor wasn’t certain he liked what he’d just heard.

He felt Sansa’s fingers slip out of her cunt and go for his arsehole, her slick finger circling it while her hips started rolling hard against him again, making him tense as fuck underneath her.

“Little bird,” he hissed, “don’t even think about going there.”

But Sansa wasn’t listening to him and she slipped that one slick finger inside his tight opening and quickly curled it just so to rub inside him, making him feel something incredibly exciting bloom inside of him, radiating from that spot to his hard balls before shooting right to his cock and then spreading all over his body.

“Little bird,” he barked dangerously. “Take your bloody finger out of me . . .” he hissed at the unbidden intrusion and then gasped in raw pleasure despite himself as he felt her finger rubbing soothing circles over that amazingly sweet spot inside of him that had no bleeding right to feel so fucking good, while his hands were still pushing and pulling at Sansa’s amazing arse cheeks, his cock getting some wonderful friction buried deep inside the little bird’s tight wet cunt. Still, he was a dangerous warrior, and that wasn’t what a sodding warrior did . . . and he was going to tell her . . . right . . . about . . . now . . .

And with that thought in mind, Sandor Clegane's body went completely rigid as he suddenly peaked. “Oh fuck . . . oh, just . . . bloody _FUCK YESSS_!” he moaned out loud when his release hit him and a massive wave of pleasure crashed right through him, taking everything in its powerful wake. The blissful pressure that had been slowly building inside his cock exploding with a force that took his breath away and he felt his seed spill and spill inside Sansa’s tight cunt which had started to clench almost painfully around him as Sansa too finally peaked over him with a loud wail, her hips now jerking messily over him, all rhythm lost.

Sandor was moaning loudly while his release was being drawn from him in a slow yet incredibly powerful way with each rub of Sansa's finger inside him; he was seeing stars behind his eyelids and the blood was rushing in his ears while her loud moans mingled with his own as she milked everything they had. His cock was pulsing hard inside her and his hips were now arched well off the bed while his body convulsed wildly in complete unadulterated pleasure underneath his little bird while she too was shuddering and gasping as she climaxed.

“Sandor, Sandor, oh gods! Sandor . . .” Sansa moaned loudly again and again.

“Sansa . . . oh fuck, _yes_ , little bird . . .” he replied in agonized pleasure. _Oh gods, this is just too bloody good! And fuck me if I didn't just sing for her, just as she said I would._

Sandor and Sansa ground their hips together almost desperately in a bid to draw out their pleasure as long as they could while their bodies were raked with the aftershocks of their simultaneous release.

Slowly, they both stilled while their hearts beat wildly in their chests. Sandor became dimly aware that Sansa had taken her finger out of him and had risen to go to the washbasin. His softening cock was covered in his seed and his little bird’s juices.

After a few minutes, she came back and handed him the clean, cool cloth with a blush in her cheeks.

“What are you blushing about, little bird?” he rasped, amusement creeping in his tone. “After what we just did, I don’t think you need to blush anymore.” He took the cloth and cleaned himself off the seed that covered his slick cock, his groin and his stomach before going down to reach between his arse cheeks, making Sansa blush even more before he dropped the cloth on the floor.

“Oh Sandor, I hope . . . I hope you liked what I did to you,” she murmured as she lied down beside him, nestling her head in the crook of his arm which he wrapped protectively around her. She laid her left hand lightly over his chest, her palm pressed against his beating heart, her fingers playing with his chest hair again. Sandor reached for Sansa’s right leg and brought it over his thighs while drawing soothing circles over her soft flesh with his calloused thumb. Then he grabbed a bed sheet and threw it carelessly over them both, the night being so warm they actually didn’t really need it.

Sandor was now feeling sleepy as all the seven hells. “Little bird it was . . . unusual but yes . . . I liked it.” He lightly kissed her brow lovingly. “But please, don't do that again . . . at least that last part. It doesn't feel very warrior-like,” he added uncomfortably.

Sansa giggled before adding shyly, “will you . . . will you take me again, Sandor?” She raised her head toward him and turned over on her stomach to look at him deeply. She wanted to search the grey pools of his eyes, to see how he truly felt about her.

“Sansa, I’ve wanted to take you so many times,” Sandor rasped. “Since you didn’t ask for me to be between your legs again while we fled here I thought . . . I thought you didn’t want me anymore . . .” he added as his eyes looked away from hers in pure fucking shame.

For the first time, Sansa saw and heard how unsure he was, how deeply insecure Sandor Clegane – the strongest warrior she'd ever known, one of the most dangerous and fiercest men in Westeros – truly was underneath. _I thought he was only afraid of fire, but now I know he's also afraid I won't want him or love him back._

She took his chin between her thumb and forefinger before she lovingly stroked the burnt side of his face with the back of her hand while she looked deep into his eyes. “Sandor, I’ve always needed you, always wanted you,” she sighed deeply against him and started showering his face with warm open-mouthed kisses, making him grunt in pleasure again as his lips searched for hers hungrily. Sansa kissed him back eagerly, their tongues sliding wetly together. Then she breathed the words she knew he so wanted to hear. “I love you, Sandor.”

Sandor crushed her to him, his voice catching and faltering in his throat. “Little bird . . .” Then, almost as if it was the greatest battle he'd ever undertaken in his entire life he added, “I love you.”


End file.
